


Cleaved Apart

by JustJim



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27918400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustJim/pseuds/JustJim
Summary: How did he get up each day and breathe as the guilt and hate weighed him down?It was all he had left.
Kudos: 3





	Cleaved Apart

"It's all your fault."

His uncle said it with so much conviction, with so much vehemence that it rendered Derek silent, his expression closing up as everything within locked down. There had been a time when he would have defended himself, would have felt he had a right to go against those claims when in truth, the anger those words caused, was because they echoed what he felt inside. The words were so familiar to him, he could only embrace them with this empty exhaustion. It was hard to fight against it when it was told to him so often, when it was the exact feeling he felt within. It 𝒘𝒂𝒔 his fault, and who was he to go against so many others who didn't see him any differently? It was useless, his guilt had burned away any good left within him a long time ago. His guilt had silenced his voice when he had been sixteen because nothing he would have said would have changed what he had done. Silence had been so much easier as his guilt choked him up until his throat felt like he could barely breathe.

And as Laura had patiently dragged him through his muteness, pretended like their life in New York could ever replace the life they had lost, Derek thought maybe starting a new life would be possible. Until the little light in the darkness had brusquely been blown out in a rush of violence, ripped away from Derek as if it had never been there. When he had found Laura in pieces, he thought her mutilated body displayed exactly how his heart felt. Cleaved apart, raw and bloody and dead. He thought, if he avenged her death, he would be able to crawl into a corner, whimper and fade away. Instead he got pulled into caring for a group of teens who didn't want him there, because they knew he was nothing but a fraud, he couldn't care. The anger he felt was the anger for not being able to give up. Harsh words were easier to utter, they were a comfort to the dead cold inside of him. Nobody wanted him, it was all his fault.

Staring up in the darkness of the night, he waited for light to show, another day lost, another morning to force himself to get up and breathe. Throwing himself into the danger became a comfort, maybe he'd get the chance to not get up, maybe he could stop being the disappointment everybody knew he was. Numbed down to a hollow husk to do what needed to be done.

Hateful words were too familiar, he pretended he didn't feel them, he pretended like he didn't listen to his heart beat in his throat at night while he never slept. The words tore into him, they always would, leaving open wounds behind he never showed because nobody cared. Each and every one of them looked at him for any and all wrong doing. His fault. It didn't matter when it wasn't his fault. Didn't matter to them that the reason why it was so easy for him to survive a fight by simply holding on while his body was wrecked, was because it was a pale comparison to the pain he felt inside day after day.

It was easier to be the man they hated, he had stopped loving himself a long time ago. So he quietly took and submitted to the simple truth and lie. It was all his fault.

How did he get up each day and breathe as the guilt and hate weighed him down?

It was all he had left.


End file.
